


Gods And Monsters

by GoofyGoldenGirl



Category: Loki: Agent of Asgard, Marvel, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Clubbing, Dark, Depression, Gen, Hangover, Loki: Agent of Asgard (2014) #5, Loss of Innocence, Nightmare, Promiscuity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 10:08:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2464385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoofyGoldenGirl/pseuds/GoofyGoldenGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After meeting with his future self, Loki was not the same. He began to fall...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gods And Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> _This was written back in July_

He woke up on the floor. He wasn't sure which one it was. It was the living room floor in his apartment, but it didn't matter to him either way.

Loki felt weak. He sat up and felt his head spin. He saw stars. He blinked, trying not to pass out again. Eyeliner was smeared under his underlids. His shirt was open. His crown lay on the floor. The apartment was silent. He knew he had returned alone.

His stomach churned and the dizziness was stronger than ever. He crawled to the bathroom, trying to hold back the nausea. He almost made it. He was about to open the bathroom door when he felt too sick to keep on moving. With on hand on the door and the other on the ground, holding his body up, he vomited. 

Loki never had hangovers this bad before. Midgardian drinks were never potent enough for him. He had started to add Asgardian liquor to his drinks, smuggling them in to bars and clubs, and pouring them in when the bartender wasn't looking. Seven drinks in and he'd start to feel tipsy. Another seven and he was drunk. Double it and he'd be in mortal danger. Sometimes, he had a feeling that club drugs were added in as well when he wasn't looking. There was a time when he was careful about how he drank and what was put in his cup. But those days were gone.

With his last remaining strength, he dragged himself in the bathroom and shut himself in. He couldn't sense anything else anymore, all he felt was the pain in his throat and the new one that bubbled in his lower stomach. Time passed, he wasn't sure how long. He tasted bile in his mouth and smelled the pungent odor of shit all around him. He lifted himself up, shaking, sweat running down his body. He staggered over to the sink. He hung over the sink, letting the cold water run over his hands. He made an attempt to splash his face and rinse his mouth. He avoided looking at the mirror; he didn't want that bastard to pop up again.

Loki tried to recall what had happened the night before. He had gone to the club that was about two blocks from the apartment. Everything else was blacked out. He was used to it. Nothing changed in his clubbing routine. He drank at the bar, ordering the most expensive drinks, starting with shots, moving on to harder drinks, feeling his head spin. He danced on the floor, his hands lit up by the multicolor lights, his legs wobbly, grinding on guys, girls grinding on him. He felt the blood rush through him, a crazed grin on his face, laughing, crying, because he felt so with it, so happy. In tune with others and with the music, for once he belonged somewhere. His hands would explore, he locked lips in a sloppy wet kiss, almost shoving his tongue down his partner's throat. It didn't stop. He found himself in the club bathroom, getting blown or blowing others. He woke up in strange apartments, with few memories of the encounter that had happened, lying on damp sheets that smelled of sweat and semen, sometimes covered in blood if he hadn't been prepped enough. And Loki turned to smile at the person beside him that gave him so much pleasure, to ruin the moment by emptying the contents of his stomach on the floor. Or worse the bed. He was kicked out after.

Once in a while he got into fist fights. Half of the time it was over something stupid; he would get pissed and deliver the first blow. He wasn't as strong as he used to be. He bruised all over, he fell, blood ran from his nose and cheeks. He was kicked out. Loki wandered the streets with no destination in mind. He didn't care where he'd end up. His apartment or the alleyway, it was all the same.

He didn't want to sleep. The bastard was always in his nightmares. It was the same nightmare, the one where he heard the bastard's chilling laugh, a scream of a child as he lay dying in a pool of blood and feathers. The man grabbed him, tearing his hair out, his clothes,then the skin, reducing him to a pile of bones. He woke up screaming, panicked that the bastard would appear to him then and there. He only slept well if the alcohol blacked him out. He wasn't hungry; he often only ate once a day. He had to force himself to eat. Like now. He watched as the bacon sizzled in the pan. He couldn't smell it. And when he put it in on his plate and took a bite, he couldn't taste it. Once upon a time he loved bacon and relished its juicy, salty flavor. Now he felt like he was eating mushy cardboard. He made himself drink a glass of water. The bacon did not seem to help with the nausea; he felt like gagging.

He sat on the couch. He felt tired again. He had overworked himself. He blinked, hoping that he wouldn't see the bastard's face float in front of him, or hear his voice whisper in his ear. His hands shook. He blankly stared at the wall, remembering how they had come to him. His brother. Verity. Both concerned. He had said he was fine. He knew he wasn't. He could keep lying. He could lie all he wanted and indulge in all sorts of risky behaviors. But the truth stared him in the face and he did all he could to shut it out.

Loki heard a sound. He jumped, startled. He fearfully glanced around, clenching his fist, ready to strike. He called out for it to stop, but the sound continued. He looked around again. As soon as he realized where it was coming from, he relaxed.

His iPhone was playing music. It sat on the table, hooked up to the speakers. A low, hollow, feminine voice crooned:

_No one's gonna take my soul away_  
 _I'm living like Jim Morrison_  
 _Headed towards a fucked up holiday_  
 _Motel sprees sprees and I'm singing_  
 _Fuck yeah give it to me this is heaven, what I truly want_  
 _It's innocence lost_  
 _Innocence lost_

Loki sunk into the couch. His body tensed up. His eyes welled with tears but they wouldn't fall. He wasn't sure how or when to cry anymore. Another memory came to mind, something he distantly remembered but was just as hazy like the current ones.

_Thor if I go bad. Do it. Just do it. Promise me_

Why couldn't anyone do it now? The hell of the dead was more appealing than the hell he was living in. He would give anything to get out, but he knew it would never happen. The bastard would just bring him back and force him to continue on. And once more he'd be reminded that he had no control over his life, that everything was decided for him, and that he couldn't change anything. He could rebel with the drinks, drugs, and sex, but they didn't help. They would never help.

One tear dripped down his cheek. Suddenly it was like a dam burst. His vision was blurry from the flood that poured from his eyes. He clutched at his upper arms, huddling his body in. He screamed. He screamed as if he had just woken up from one his nightmares. How could he lie to himself anymore? He was in a nightmare. It was his life.


End file.
